by Gary Urey
“Stop!” Henrik yelled. “Or I will shoot!”
Boris turned on the men. The dog pinned back his ears, let out a vicious-sounding snarl, and leaped at the gunman. Daisha heard the sound of bones crunching as Boris’s powerful jaws clamped down on Henrik’s wrist.
“Ahhh!” Henrik cried in agony, dropping his handgun on the hot asphalt. “Shoot him! Get this dog off me!”
The other man reached into his jacket pocket, yanked out a pistol, and fired. The bullet missed its mark. Boris lunged at the gunman, sharp fangs and viselike jaws ripping into his calf. The dog’s sudden attack made the man lose his grip on the pistol. The firearm hit the asphalt and skittered out of reach. The woman from the shelter limped out of the building, frantically screaming into a cell phone.
“Get animal control and an ambulance here immediately!” the woman ordered the person on the other end of the line. “There’s a dog attacking two people in the parking lot of the Palo Alto Animal Shelter!”
Daisha, who had been watching the scene unfold from across the street, yelled for the dog. “Boris!” she hollered. “Come! Let him go! Come, boy!”
Boris was at first reluctant to let go of the man, but soon he gave in to Daisha’s pleas and ran to her. Together, as sirens blared in the distance, the two of them headed back in the direction of Daisha’s old house. When they finally got to Byron Street, Daisha saw a silver BMW sitting in the driveway. A sign spiked into the front yard and decorated with colorful helium balloons read:
OPEN HOUSE
10–1
Tommi Lawson Realty
Daisha plopped on the curb, head in her hands. The tears came strong and hard. Loud, heaving sobs that lasted for several minutes. When the weeping had run its course, she hugged Boris around the neck.
“You and I are a lot alike, my friend,” she said, stroking the dog’s chin. “Bad men are tracking you too. Several of whom are crawling every inch of Palo Alto looking for us at this very moment.”
A well-dressed blond woman, probably Tommi Lawson herself, stepped out of the house and walked to her car. She grabbed a black briefcase from the front passenger’s seat and returned to the house.
“What am I going to do with you, Boris?” Daisha wondered.
She knew taking the dog back to the shelter was out of the question. After what he had done to the Pursuers in the parking lot, the authorities would euthanize him for sure.
“You’re going to have to fend for yourself until I can come back and find you,” she said, stroking the dog’s back. “It’ll be easy since you’ve got that GPS chip embedded in you.”
Daisha stood up and wiped tears from her face. The time had come to warp to India. She pulled out the GeoPort and typed in the coordinates for the Konanavlah Sun Temple—23.1483° N, 79.9015° E. Boris went crazy. He jumped on her, whimpering and whining, begging her not to leave him.
“I know you don’t want me to go,” Daisha said. “I want to stay with Axel too, but I…”
The idea suddenly came to her. She would not leave Axel after all. She immediately deleted the coordinates to the Konanavlah Sun Temple and typed in a new set of numbers. Ones that she remembered looking up for no particular reason at an Internet café in Ho Chi Minh City a couple days earlier—37.4220° N, 122.0840° W.
With the press of a button, an explosion of smoke and electrical discharge blasted in Daisha’s face, and she evaporated into the Warp.
Chapter Thirty-Two
DOCTOR STAIN
The Doctor, Pinchole, and Stiv stood inside a private airplane hangar at the Santa Clara County Airport. They watched as several muscular men loaded containers of materials into a rented Boeing 747 Large Cargo Freighter.
“That is the biggest plane I have ever seen,” Stiv said. “It looks a beluga whale on steroids.”
“The thing’s a little too large if you ask me,” the Doctor remarked. He turned to Pinchole. “Is it really necessary for us to bring all these materials?”
“It’s absolutely necessary,” Pinchole said, scrolling on his iPad. “They just loaded a Bjorn 800 MHz nuclear magnetic resonance spectrometer. The container before that was an extremely powerful x-ray laser used to measure the atoms in plasmas.”
“Why would we need to measure blood?” the Doctor asked.
Pinchole stifled a giggle. “Not that kind of plasma, sir. We measure cosmic plasma made of electrons, protons, and ions. Earth’s magnetic field is like a protective shield, protecting us from the solar wind’s constant stream of cosmic plasma radiated from the sun. All this is how Professors Jack and Tandala created geographical transportation and the actual GeoPort units.”
The Doctor shrugged. As far as he was concerned, Pinchole was just counting the trees. He, on the other hand, was seeing the entire forest. The world around him was going about its normal business, but what he was on the verge of accomplishing was anything but. The Doctor Lennon Hatch Geographical Transportation Company was about to make its final breakthrough, and the Doctor could barely contain his excitement. He figured that they were less than a year from starting up the wealthiest and most powerful company the world had ever known.
“I want to thank you again for inviting me along,” Stiv said to the Doctor. “Just a year ago, I was a new computer science PhD from UC Berkeley and now I’m working for you, the fourth-wealthiest man on the planet.”
The Doctor smiled, the birthmark on his face flushing bright red at the younger woman. “Soon to be number one, I guarantee you. You know, the moment I laid my eyes on you, I knew there was something very special about your lovely face. You are just the kind of unique individual I want on my team. Play along, and you will be in for the ride of your life.”
Stiv’s fingers reached up and stroked the Doctor’s hand. “I’m here for the long haul. And you will soon find out I’m a terrific team player.”
“By the way, where did you ever get the name, Stiv?”
“The Dead Boys.”
“Excuse me?”
“A guy named Stiv Bators was the leader of a seventies punk band called the Dead Boys. My parents were hard-core punk rockers in their youth and named me after him.”
The massive roar of an airplane engine interrupted their conversation. The Doctor looked up and saw the Boeing 747 lurch forward and roll its way out of the hangar.
“Don’t tell me you need another cargo plane,” the Doctor grumbled.
“Not at all,” Pinchole reassured him. “We managed to get everything we needed on one plane. Also, thanks to you persuading the local Indian officials, we have an entire building at a local private school. It’s only a few hundred yards from the Sun Temple, plus we get meals and lodging at their staff quarters.”
“I bet they make an awesome vegetarian tikka masala,” Stiv said.
Pinchole shot her a hard look and then turned to the Doctor. “Sir, can we speak in private to go over some final details?”
“Fine,” the Doctor said. “Stiv, you might as well go home and pack. We leave tomorrow morning bright and early.”
Stiv smiled and left the hangar. The Doctor and Pinchole watched her walk away.
“She’s a very charming young lady,” the Doctor said. “I sure never thought I would say that about a girl with blue hair, tattoos, and multiple piercings.”
Pinchole blushed but didn’t respond.
“I think you have a crush on the girl,” the Doctor teased.
“Yes, she’s easy on the eyes,” Pinchole said. “Most of the guys in the Monitoring Room drool over her, but that’s not what I’m concerned about.”
“Then what’s bothering you?”
Pinchole looked around nervously, checking to make sure no one was in earshot. “Can we trust her?”
“What do you mean, can we trust her? You’re the one who hired her!”
“I employ her as a highly qualified and competent computer analyst. We’ve only met with her twice, and she knows almost all of our operation. Even some of my right-hand men don’t know as much
as that girl.”
The Doctor threw back his head and howled with laughter. “Do you think she’s some kind of spy, an undercover agent out to destroy our operation? The girl is all of five feet and a hundred pounds. Unless those piercings are secret recording devices and her tattoos spout poison, I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”
“Pardon me for being paranoid. It’s just that we’re so close to getting the operation up and running. I don’t want anything throwing a wrench in the works.”
“The only person throwing a wrench is me. And I’m going to aim it right at your head if you bother me with this silliness again. Understand?”
Pinchole nodded.
“Good. Now, you had better get used to Stiv. I’ve decided she will be the newest member of my team. Our men are close to finding Daisha, correct?”
“They’re scouring Palo Alto as we speak,” Pinchole answered.
The Doctor’s cell phone rang. He looked to see who was calling and then waved Pinchole away. “It’s the governor of California. I have to take this call. Meet me back in my office in a couple hours to go over the final preparations.”
The Doctor swallowed two prescription pain pills, hopped into an awaiting Bentley, and ordered his chauffeur back to his headquarters.
Chapter Thirty-Three
AXEL
Axel couldn’t believe he was back at the Doctor’s headquarters, standing beneath the same ventilation shaft where he had made his escape just the day before. All of his senses were on high alert. The four-mile walk from the center of Palo Alto had taken him over an hour. He was hot, sweaty, and dying for a drink of water.
Googleplex next door had provided the perfect cover as Axel had approached. The headquarters of the world’s most popular search engine company was not only a bustling place to work, but also a tourist attraction. Dozens of people wandered the grounds, taking pictures of the public art and wacky Android lawn statues shaped like ice cream sandwiches, lollipops, doughnuts, and honeycombs. Axel nonchalantly fell in with a tour group. When they moved near the tree line that separated Googleplex from the Doctor’s property, he rushed into the trees and made his way to the deserted loading dock in the back.
The metal grille that he had kicked out of the ventilation shaft was still lying on the asphalt. He figured that crawling back through the ductwork and dropping into the room was his best bet. But how could he get up there? The opening to the vent was a good ten feet up. He looked around for something to use as a ladder. The only thing close was a length of PVC pipe leaning against a Dumpster.
“It’s long enough,” Axel mused, leaning the pipe against the concrete wall. “But I’m going to have to channel my inner monkey to scurry up this baby.”
After several failed attempts, he discovered the best way to shimmy up the pipe was upside down. He had made it halfway to the top when he saw a tractor-trailer truck driving up the road. The truck passed through the security gates and rolled toward the loading dock. Axel climbed faster, hand over hand, ankles crisscrossed around the pipe to hold him up. The entrance to the shaft was just above his head. If he were upright, crawling into the opening would be easy. But he was upside down, hanging precariously from the pipe.
Squealing truck brakes sent a chill up Axel’s spine. He watched the driver position the truck and slowly back into the loading dock. The truck’s backup warning beeps echoed off the building’s walls. Before the driver noticed his presence, Axel contorted his body in midair and grabbed the lip of the ventilation shaft with his fingertips. The PVC pipe crashed to the ground. With a giant, white-knuckle heave, Axel pulled up his body weight and quickly hurried into the hole.
Darkness and dust enveloped him once again. After ten minutes of crawling, he dropped through the same ceiling he had used for his escape. Everything looked the same as he had left it. The security camera lay in pieces on the floor, and the food platter Pinchole had brought him was still sitting on a side table. Figuring the chicken skewers and cocktail wieners soaked in barbeque sauce were bad by now, he tore into the vegetable plate, gobbling down handfuls of broccoli, sweet peppers, cherry tomatoes, and celery. He thought of Daisha’s empty belly and hoped that she was sitting down to a hot dinner of lentil curry and rice.
“From what I understand, we’re all going,” a deep voice bellowed from the hallway outside.
“I hate Indian food,” said another voice. “That crap tastes and looks like dog puke. They got McDonald’s over there?”
“McDonald’s is everywhere.”
Axel’s heart fell through his stomach. He dove behind the couch just as two Pursuers entered the room.
“Throw that rotting food away,” the first voice ordered.
“What about all of this broken surveillance equipment?” the other voice asked.
“Dump it and let’s get out of here. Pinchole just texted from the airport. The cargo plane’s loaded and ready to go. He’ll be back here in an hour and wants a security detail in the Monitoring Room.”
Axel heard the door slam and the men’s footsteps fade away down the hall. He crawled from behind the couch. The presence of the men made him realize how difficult it would be to snatch back the GeoPort.
He slowly opened the door and peeked into the hallway. It was empty.
He spotted a closet next to the elevator. Axel rushed to the closet and threw open the door. There was nothing but cleaning supplies. Trash-can liners, floor cleaners, dozens of toilet paper rolls, refill jars of hand soap, two vacuum cleaners, a plastic towel dispenser with a broken handle, and a big yellow mop bucket and wringer on wheels. The overwhelming odor of disinfectant made his sinuses burn.
A shirt and baseball cap hanging on a hook caught his attention. It was a janitor’s uniform. The shirt was a light blue, long-sleeved button-down with green stripes. Two patches adorned the chest. One said Manny; the other said Los Altos Janitorial Services. The hat was green with the same Los Altos Janitorial Services logo. Inside the front shirt pocket was a blue handkerchief and single key attached to a San Francisco Giants key ring. A white sticky tag dangling from the metal loop said Master. Axel pulled on the shirt, buttoned it up, and tucked it into his jeans. The shirt was too big, but not by much. The hat fit perfectly, even with his long hair tucked underneath.
“The only way I’m getting into the Monitoring Room is as a janitor,” he said to himself. “And I bet this master key will unlock the door. I can walk right inside without anyone suspecting a thing.”
Axel pushed the mop bucket and wringer into the elevator and pressed the third floor button. A moment later, the doors shut and he was climbing toward the Monitoring Room.
Chapter Thirty-Four
DAISHA
Daisha was a streaming flood of supercharged electrical particles. She hurtled through the Warp at the speed of light, while flickering pictures like in a nineteenth-century kinetoscope flashed on the Warp’s artery walls. Mostly the historic images were innocuous—ancient Ohlone people fishing in Adobe Creek and early settlers pushing plows. A few were more disturbing, like Franciscan missionaries enslaving, whipping, and even branding the local indigenous population.
When Axel was with her in the Warp, she always felt his warm, loving, and protective energy surging directly beside her. Those comforting feelings were not accompanying her this time, though, and she spewed from the Warp and hit the ground with a jaw-clenching crunch.
Daisha’s head was spinning, and her stomach felt sick. She took several long breaths before she took a look around. She quickly realized she was sprawled on top of a large oak desk. Strewn everywhere were papers, pens, photos, and other desktop knickknacks. She sat up and looked at a photo inside a cracked frame. The picture was of a very familiar-looking man shaking the hand of what looked like the president of the United States.
“Holy shitake mushroom!” she blurted out. “I’ve Warped right inside the Doctor’s private office!”
Instantly, Daisha regretted her decision not to Warp directly to Ind
ia as she had promised Axel. Her stomach knotted up. She had made a horrible mistake. By not going to India, she would have to wait a whole day until the Warp reset. And worst of all, she was now stuck inside the belly of the beast.
“How could I be so stupid?” she cried.
The Doctor’s office door flew open. Daisha nearly leaped out of her skin. A young woman with shoulder-length platinum-blond hair stared at her from the doorway.
“Who are…What in the…” the woman stuttered, her eyes bugging out in shock. She plucked a cell phone from her pocket, but before the woman could hit a button, Daisha leaped to her feet, knocked the phone away, and tackled the woman to the carpet. The woman screamed and squirmed, trying to get free. But it was no use. Although Daisha was only thirteen, she was taller than the woman by a good four inches and had grown incredibly strong from dodging Pursuers.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Daisha said, trying to calm her down. She then heaved the woman to her feet and pushed her into a closet. After securing the back of a chair against the door handle to lock the woman inside, Daisha stepped into the lobby.
“I have to find a way out of here,” Daisha murmured. “That woman will kick her way out of the closet in no time.”
The Doctor’s reception area was just as opulent as his office. Beautifully carved woodwork decorated the walls. Fancy leather couches and chairs surrounded a fireplace. A large elevator door painted to look like an Egyptian pharaoh’s tomb dominated one wall. A fire escape door with a bright red sign above it that flashed Exit was adjacent to the elevator.
“Axel said the Monitoring Room was on the third floor,” Daisha said to herself. “If we’re going to hook up again, that’s where I have to go.”
She was about to push the elevator button but thought she would be safer taking the fire exit instead. She burst through the door and hesitated for a moment, not knowing where to go. Then, seeing there were no stairs leading up, she bounded down the metal steps. A smile spread across her face when she reached a heavy steel door with a sign that read Third Floor, where Axel had said the Doctor was keeping the GeoPort.